


Aboard a Wale.

by LucifurMacomb



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, The Dreadful Wale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucifurMacomb/pseuds/LucifurMacomb
Summary: Since Corvo had joined Meagan Foster’s ship on the day of the coup, the two were never sure what to make of each other. At first things felt awkward, Meagan realising her part in events long since passed - a day the Royal Protector would never forget. However, two people on a boat together in the middle of the open sea: contact was unavoidable. At first it was passing glances and a spoonful of “Hello,” and “See you later,”’s.





	Aboard a Wale.

Since Corvo had joined Meagan Foster’s ship on the day of the coup, the two were never sure what to make of each other. At first things felt awkward, Meagan realising her part in events long since passed - a day the Royal Protector would never forget. However, two people on a boat together in the middle of the open sea: contact was unavoidable. At first it was passing glances and a spoonful of “Hello,” and “See you later,”’s.  
Meagan had stood uncomfortably behind the wheel the first night, as Corvo took a chair up to the helm. He wasn’t demanding; his questions were concise and polite. Asking about Sokolov and her affiliation with him - what she knew of the Crown Killer, and their connection to the Duke. He asked about Serkonos, having not visited his homeland in almost 40 years. The conversation was pleasant, Foster not lowering her guard, worried he saw through her guise, but he remained unaware. Corvo of course could tell she was hiding something, but right now she was his only lead into finding Anton and begin to unravel the coup, and the origins of Jessamine’s “sister” Delilah. 

Tensions lifted as they got closer to Serkonos, the two weeks filling the space between Dunwall and Karnaca. Meagan noticed that her passenger suddenly woke up in a strange mood one morning. Corvo said nothing, but she could tell by the look in his eyes he’d seen something - it was a look she recognised from someone else's eyes, years before. There’d been more than a fair share of rumours about the Lord Protector, the young Serkonan, son of a woodsman, who’d won the heart of the Princess of the Isles; but she daren't ask.  
Soon they were rubbing elbows, spending time in the same places for a few hours - they’d call each other “good company,” as they shared stories of half-truths and white-lies, over a pipe of tobacco and the remainder of Anton’s whiskey. When Corvo wasn’t in his room planning, he tried to make himself useful: spluttering out with more than a handful of “Let me help with that,”’s. From helping in the galley, to holding something in place in the engine room. Meagan joked that “[She] could always use an extra hand.”  
Corvo held respect for her, whatever secrets she was hiding, her disability left her with no less tenacity than that of any other woman he’d met in the Isles - alive or dead. They got on with only petty arguments being made, Meagan having to tell Corvo a few times to remove his boots from the table as he read the limited collection of the ship's library. His eyes looking over the pages of the paper “CROWN KILLER STRIKES AGAIN,” for about the hundredth time. 

After Meagan had picked Corvo up from Addermire, she kept her eyes and ears open for Hypatia. Sure enough, Hypatia had remembered the boat’s name, and showed up with a few of her own possessions on the dock Meagan had been bringing the skiff to on provision runs. Corvo spent a fair deal of time with Hypatia, Meagan only assumed he was trying to help her get over any grief for what she might’ve done. “If only you knew,” she’d mutter.  
Still, Hypatia was more than an extra mouth to feed, she was a good woman (who also happened to bring in a bit of coin in thanks for her passage,) but finding Anton was priority.  
Foster didn’t know Jindosh personally (thank god) but she’d heard stories, and by Holger’s eyes she wasn’t going to just sit still and let that deranged maniac toy with someone she’d become so close with.  
In foresight she slapped her wrist at the fact she’d let herself get so close to someone. She’d known Anton from her time in Dunwall - even seen him once or twice. They didn’t exactly bump into each other at the local grocer, or even share a conversation, the old man had no idea who she was then and only some idea of who she was now.  
Still Corvo comforted her worries, making a promise to bring him back. The Lord Protector was company she wasn’t used to keeping. Even Sokolov, with all his brains and reputation, was as vulgar as they come. Corvo was something different. A gentleman - she teased him with the little idiom of “Every Serkonan’s tongue is silver.”  
He’d tell her stories of his time as a boy here, as they’d stand on deck and look across the whole bay of Karnaca. Despite their worries, the moment was a calm one. 

Sure enough Corvo brough Anton back in one piece. Perhaps a little worse for wear, but in one piece nonetheless. She flashed Attano a smile, as they darted upriver in the skiff, Anton tucked under his arm unconscious. “Thanks.”  
Having a doctor aboard came as a bonus after bringing Anton back to the ship, with Meagan and Corvo only having the vaguest idea of medical knowledge. Hypatia sending Meagan inland to get a slew of alchemical components she’d never even heard of. Still, if it would bring Sokolov back to health, it was worth it. The Good Doctor bound his wounds and had him up and walking again a day later, his grouchy/good-humoured self.  
Soon they were talking like it was old times. But it was Corvo’s turn to get impatient -- when was the last time he’d seen Anton Sokolov? Corvo wasn’t sure the man he’d brought back was truly him. The old man’s indestructible demeanor had vanished and been replaced as a delicate and aged victim of time.  
After another full day of rest, Sokolov was in a more recollective state, providing the two with the next name for the list: Breanna Ashworth...  
Corvo came back rough and ragged, sweat dripping from his chiseled jaw, as he stepped into the skiff that hot Serkonan night. Few had had the privilege of sticking their sword through a witch and living to tell the tale, this she knew for certain. Meagan helped him patch up some of his grazes as they sat by the canal’s edge, Corvo talking aimlessly. He purposely avoided the specifics of the assassination which just took place, he simpered, recalling some of the museum’s exhibits, relaying the details to Foster who listened attentively. On the trip back to the Wale they said nothing.

With Sokolov recovering, he couldn’t help spending time with Hypatia - or more that she was spending time with him. The chance to discuss formulas with the inventor to one of the best elixirs was too much for her to pass up, still, as with anyone, Sokolov loved to entertain company. This left Corvo and Meagan plenty of time to plan their next move, however, unexpectedly their original awkwardness returned to them. It returned with an unspoken, yet mutual, understanding. Corvo’s heart could only ever belong to Jess, but even he couldn’t deny there was more than just a casual bond between him and the ship’s captain. Foster was resourceful, straightforward, serious, focusing on the task at hand. She and Corvo were very alike. There was a spark of something, it was undeniable. Conversations became a bundle of short and unfinished sentences:  
“Oh, I’m sorry I was just--”  
“No it’s my fault, I was only--”  
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going upstairs I’ll--”  
“See you later?”  
“Yeah.”  
Meagan was rarely attracted to men, but Corvo Attano wasn’t any other man. He was exceedingly brilliant, and sharp-minded, and she didn’t regret for a second letting him take over in doing the cooking. His knowledge of Serkonan meals was flavoured and masterful - even the dullest ingredients fell to satisfaction in her mouth after he’d mixed them in a pot.  
Anton would mock her over their games of cards, when Corvo was sleeping. She knew the old man meant no harm - their insults were relentless but undoubtedly friendly. 

Truthfully, Corvo could hardly sleep. His mind drifted between the real world and the void at the bat of an eyelid. If the Outsider were watching him, he could only assume the snide remarks he’d make. He held the heart close to him - funny how his heart would always belong to Jessamine, but her heart truly belonged to him. The heart was less his fiance and more a memory of her. Faded, but pure. Just to hear her voice again drove him close to tears. Perhaps she knew of the feelings he was manifesting for Foster - the feelings Foster festered?  
He tried to reason with himself on a matter he had no control over. He’d lost enough people - was finding someone really that bad? With Emily cast in cold marble, and any allies he might’ve had were either dead or in hiding, the people he found himself close to were an aged natural philosopher, and a smuggler who was very much like himself: a survivor, who was built and torn down in Dunwall, a human with a great sense of preservation, and warm, familiar eyes. Or… eye. 

It was the night before Corvo was to head out to Stilton’s Manor. The three of them sat beneath the deck, with the hatch pulled back revealing the star-filled sky to them all. The air was as warm as ever, their only company was the sounds of the waves.  
“What do you suppose you’ll find there?” Foster asked, puffing on her pipe.  
“I’m not sure… However they granted Delilah immortality: I’m sure it won’t be pleasant at the eye of the storm.”  
“Hah!” Anton blurted out, “It never is.” He swilled the rum in his tumbler, before swigging it down. “Still - this is Corvo Attano I’m talking to. The man who darted across Dunwall, knife in hand, all to save our rightful Empress: his daughter. You’ll pull through, I’m sure of it.”  
The old man physically waved away at the idea of doubt, examining his empty glass.  
“You know,” Sokolov went on, “I was on both sides of history - it irks me to say. I sometimes wonder how different things could’ve been… Meagan did you know that Corvo here hoisted me from my own home? The void knows how he managed to get through all my security -- in fact he still refuses to tell me what flaw in my design he must’ve uncovered to bypass walls of light without rewiring them or unplugging them. Remarkable.”  
Forster rolled her eyes with a sharp grin, “Yes, Anton, you’ve told me many a time.”  
“I have? Oh… my mind isn’t what it used to be, I must say…” The scholars face fell sombre for a moment, before looking up at the two. “What are you looking at?”  
“Nothing.”  
Corvo shifted from his chair, examining their spider's web of targets, fingering over the map “How do you propose we get into Stilton’s mansion?”  
“As you say: It’s not going to be easy. Our main concern is getting passed the Jindosh Lock, who knows what you’ll find inside.”  
Corvo rubbed his unkempt jawline, pondering the conundrum. “I could always break back into Jindosh’s mansion. Perhaps he had some blueprints to his lock which could give us a clue as to how to disable it.”  
“No way,” Forster protested, “I won’t risk you going back there - ever since you went to deal with that worm, Grand Guard are patrolling the area more than ever.”  
“Besides,” Anton said, laying down his glass, “Not to give Jindosh credit, but the man kept most of his blueprints in his own head. Unless you plan on scheduling a divine lobotomy, you can forget about unearthing any of the man’s secrets.”  
“Dead men tell no tales,” Corvo mumbled as his eyes flicked towards the x-ed out sketching of Jindosh.  
“Back when I used to run with my gang, we performed all sorts of jobs others might’ve called impossible, Corvo is-” she redirected her attention towards the Royal Protector, “You’ve already proved yourself a trained swordsman, and you’ve overcome some obstacles that seem beyond comprehension. What you need to worry about is what you’ll find in Stilton’s Manor, I’ll find a way inside, don’t worry,” she smiled, flattening down his collar.  
“Yes, well if this is all well and good, seeing as you’ve managed to finish off my stash of beverages, I will be retiring for the night…”  
Sokolov pushed himself up from the chair - a hand resting on the table and another supporting his own back, coming to full stature he couldn’t help but wobble as he stood, caused by more than just the beating of the waves against the hull. He held his ground until his body stabilized, Meagan standing close by in case a sudden motion of the boat might knock him, but he found his own footing.  
“Goodnight, you two. Don’t be up all night, we have a great deal of work ahead of us tomorrow,” he said strictly, hobbling across the hull to his quarters. 

Left alone, Meagan took Sokolov’s seat and began to clean out her pipe, nearly empty, with the intention of packing in another round.  
“Cigarette?” She offered, realising Corvo didn’t have anything left to keep himself busy with.  
“No, thank you,” he sighed, planting himself back down on the chair.  
Meagan looked at him for a moment, and then checked to see that Sokolov had close his door, she stood up and covertly stretched across a trunk in the cargo hold. Flipping the lid of a would-be hatbox, she pulled out a single bottle, mixed in among straw: A bottle of Dunwall Whiskey.  
“I was saving this for a special occasion. I’d thought about bringing it out when you brought Sokolov back, but we’d had bigger things to attend to. It’s not much but… maybe it’ll remind you of home.”  
Laying the bottle down on the table, Corvo swivelled the bottle in his hands. “Thank you. Will you be joining me?”  
“I might as well,” Meagan smirked, pushing her glass across the table towards Corvo to fill.  
“What does it remind you of? The whiskey?”  
She stiffened up, memories glowing in her head like embers of a great fire. “A different time, I think.”  
“At least it isn’t King Street Brandy, the very smell of it use to be able to stir Sokolov’s attention from halfway across Dunwall tower.”  
“I’ve never been a fan.”  
“Neither have I.”  
Corvo slid Foster’s glass back to her, placing it alongside her tobacco tin. They sat in silence for a while, both meeting each other's eyeline, passing a smile or a grin. There was a tension you could cut with a knife - and for two killers, neither of them were eager to strike.  
“I’m cold,” Meagan finally said.  
“We should close the hatch now it’s getting pretty late… Here.” Attano removed his coat, standing, he wrapped it over Meagan’s shoulders. “I’ll go close it.”  
“No,” Meagan said sharply, “You’ll only go and get it jammed - it needs a delicate hand.”  
“Well, at least let me help.”  
The two went on deck, Foster shifting the metal of the hatch carefully. The tough frame squeaking and grinding at it was pushed down the guides. Suddenly it caught on something - coming to a stop.  
“Pull it back,” Corvo suggested. Kneeling down next to her.  
“It only needs a strong push. This often happens. Just-- help me slide it over.”  
The two put their palms against the cold surface while the sea air wrapped itself around them. Straining against the friction of the hatch, they pushed it shut with a mighty slam.  
“Perhaps your hands are gentler than I thought…” Meagan quickly tried to retcon her sentence, but no alternatives came to mind. Without warning a strong wind built up, the waves around the boat rocking it with more power than before. It wasn’t a rough sea, but it was certainly more intense than they’d experienced since they arrived at Karnaca.  
Already being so low to the deck, the shove of the sea toppled the two atop of hatch with a clunk. Meagan found herself alongside Corvo’s chest, as he looked down, resting an arm around her.  
“Let’s get inside,” providing another suggestion, he helped her to her feet and they both braced themselves for the walk back within the ship. 

What happened next neither could explain, making their way to Hypatia’s now-empty room and resting on the mattress. Perhaps it was out a shared loneliness that they sat so closely entwined.  
Corvo tried to speak but Meagan told him: “Shh. Let’s just sit here a moment.” And so they did. Their eyes met, and they quickly darted away - yet they remained by each other’s side. Meagan tucked under Corvo’s arm, with her legs across his. His body felt strong, as if a protective aura surrounded him. Corvo looked to her, she didn’t feel delicate in his arms, she was as strong as he was - despite this she still felt like she walked in the shadows. A mystery.  
This time their eyes met and they stayed looking at each other. Tilting forward as Meagan toyed with his coat, and he brushed back her hair.  
“We shouldn’t do this,” she was the first to say. Ignoring her own advice, the two naturally came together, sharing a kiss - lip to lip, and nothing more. Held for what felt like minutes before they both pulled slowly away. She shouldn’t be doing this, was all she could think, she was there on the day Jessamine died. Corvo felt he shouldn’t be doing this either, his mind wandering to the heart in his room; yet neither could resist the allure of the moment. But that’s all it would be: a moment.  
“I’m sorry,” he fretted.  
“No it’s... It’s not your fault.”  
“It’s not yours either.”  
“It’s not you it’s me. I… we all have our secrets, Royal Protector. I just couldn’t… We probably shouldn’t talk about this again?”  
“...no. Perhaps not.”  
She pecked him on the cheek, standing, “Goodnight, Corvo.”  
“Goodnight.”  
Meagan left the room, walking for the bridge and her bed. Corvo pulled back the bindings of his hand, looking down on his skin, and a tattoo burnt long ago. “Yes, we all have our secrets,” and standing, he too retired for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously Emily is the canon choice for going to Serkonos in D2, but this idea struck me and I wanted to write something


End file.
